


Writober 2: Electric Spookyaloo: Fics Day 1: Blood/Flesh/Bone

by indevan



Series: Writober 2: Electric Spookyaloo [1]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Monsters, Demon Summoning, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 12:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16158563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indevan/pseuds/indevan
Summary: Bulma grits her teeth as she presses the tip of the knife into the pad of her finger.  She hates pain and so many spells and rituals require bloodshed.  It’s easier when it’s not hers but they’re always so specific





	Writober 2: Electric Spookyaloo: Fics Day 1: Blood/Flesh/Bone

**Author's Note:**

> i'm going to take a crack at writober again. i'm using the same prompts as i did two years ago because, honestly, they were Very Good. also a lot of this is going to be based on [neon's](http://tuesdayshitter.tumblr.com) and [quin's](http://turlass) monster au. anyway i hope you all enjoy

Bulma looks from the scrap of parchment in her hand to the pentagram she’s drawn on the floor of the basement.  It’s risky to speak this incantation. She isn’t even sure if it will work and if it doesn’t, well…

She looks down at the bones she’s harvested from the cemetery.  She hates when her hard work is for nothing. The potential reward is enticing.  A powerful demon bound to her to do her bidding. It’s every witch’s dream, isn’t it?  Bulma had found the parchment in her attic among her father’s old spellbooks that were no longer in use.

Tucking the scrap of parchment in her cleavage, she arranges the bones in the center of the pentagram.  She retrieves the knife she had left on the floor outside, grumbling to herself as she has to make another trip back to the center.

“Shit, I hope this works,” she mutters.

Bulma grits her teeth as she presses the tip of the knife into the pad of her finger.  She hates pain and so many spells and rituals require bloodshed. It’s easier when it’s not hers but they’re always so  _ specific. _

She leaves the pentagram and pulls the parchment out.  She speaks the incantation aloud, careful not to mess up any of the words.  As the last word leaves her lips, smoke begins to rise from the bones. It’s a wisp at first--fine lavender smoke forming around the bones--but then it begins to rise.  The smoke grows larger, darkening in color to a vibrant violet. It reaches the end of the circle and curves around itself, held back. Bulma squints into the smoke, hoping to see something--anything.  The smoke means it was successful, right?

In the center of it, she finally spots a form.  It’s shadowy and she can’t tell if it’s the nature of the demon or if they’re just obscured by the smoke.  The smoke starts to thin and she can make out the form of the demon more clearly. The first thing she notices is that they’re pretty short.  She’s seen demons before and normally they’re hulking and over seven feet tall. The one in her circle barely looks taller than her, if that.

The smoke is little more than the wisps they began as and she can fully see what she’s summoned.  The demon looks like a man. He’s broad through the shoulders and build like a God, not a devil. A forked tail lashes near his ankles and he looks at her with a dark gaze full of disdain.  He’s mostly blue but with patches of gold on the turns of his elbows and knees. His hair is black and sticks upright, nearly disguising the golden horns that jut up from his forehead. His face is handsome with sharp, defined cheekbones and surprisingly full lips.

“Hi,” she says.

The demon glares at her and curls a lip in a scowl.  As he does, she sees the tip of a serrated fang.

“You do not greet the Prince of Demons with ‘hi,’” he says haughtily.

The _what_ of demons?  Bulma looks down at the parchment, using the big brain she’s so proud of to see if the incantation mentioned anything about royalty.  If this demon was a Prince then there was _no_ _way_ he would listen to her, right?  Unless the spell commanded him? And if the spell did do that, did she want to anger a potential _King_ of demons for having his son in her servitude.

Of course, she wasn’t going to say any of the out loud so instead she says, “I’m Bulma, Your Highness.  Do you have a name?”

Prince Demon blinks at her and a third eye opens lengthwise in his forehead to blink as well before it disappears once more.

“Sure,” he says with a slight smirk.

He opens his mouth and an unholy wail fills the air, coming not from him but from the very  _ basement. _  Blood runs down the concrete walls and Bulma hears the sound of leathery, beating wings.  Then, as quickly as it begins, the sounds subside. The blood disappears as if it were never there.

“But you may call me Vegeta,” he says.

Without another word, he strides outside of the summoning circle as if it’s nothing.  He steps directly on one of the candles at the star’s point but makes no expression of pain.  Bulma finds herself annoyed.

“Hey!” she snaps. “I summoned you!  You’re supposed to listen to me.”

“No, I’m not,” he says with a snort. “Read the incantation.”

He reaches forward with a clawed hand and plucks the parchment from her hand.

“All this does is summon me to the mortal plane and,” he smirks again. “Thank you for that.”

Bulma gapes at him.  She’s summoned a (hot, naked) pompous Demon Prince into her home and she doesn’t even  _ get anything _ out of it?

“Do you even have a place to stay?” she asks. “Or are you gonna walk around West City as a naked demon man?”

Vegeta pauses and then locks eyes with her.  A smirk flickers back to his face and she’s already annoyed.

“What?” she demands. “I feel like I have a sense of obligation since I summoned you.  What do you even want to do?”

“Get out of the demon realm, mostly,” he responds easily. “Many demons wish to usurp my father and get to him through me.  This provides a good escape and cover until I can rightfully claim my birthright upon my father’s natural death.”

Bulma nods like that’s a regular thing to say and asks, “And when is that?”

“A few millennia.”

_ Yikes… _

“And you are…?” she asks.

“Twenty-eight.”

A year older than her?  It can’t be.

“Thousand?”

Vegeta shakes his head. “Just twenty-eight.  Every time one of my siblings dies or is killed, my father and mother have another and name them after my father.”

_ That sounds terrific… _

Bulma sighs.  So the Prince of all Demons is now in the mortal realm to avoid an infernal version of  _ Game of Thrones _ thanks to her and she has to decide to let him run nakedly rampant or--what?  Have him stay here? Oh, sure, that’ll go over well. She sighs again.

“We have a spare room,” she says. “If you aren’t going to do my bidding, I guess I have to make sure not to unleash you on poor mortals.”

“You sound so thrilled around it.”

“I’m not,” she says flatly. “And put some clothes on because I’m starting to worry if you have any more secret extra eyes and I don’t want to know where.”

And Vegeta, that bastard, smirks.  Bulma looks down at the small pinprick on her finger, cursing her own blood.


End file.
